


Left of Centaur

by leveragehunters (Monkeygreen), littleblackfox



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Angst, Art, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Books, Canon Divergence - Urban Fantasy, Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2018, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Centaur Bucky Barnes, Centaur Steve Rogers, Centaurs, Fluff, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Shrunkyclunks, clint barton - Freeform, mention of past Bucky Barnes/OFC, natasha romanov - Freeform, tony stark - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-19 16:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14877122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monkeygreen/pseuds/leveragehunters, https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleblackfox/pseuds/littleblackfox
Summary: The sound of hoofbeats pulled Steve's head around and he froze.A chestnut centaur, tail so long it would have brushed the ground if it wasn't flagged in challenge, was galloping through the fighting. He was carrying a human and a dryad on his back, cradling a tiny sprite in one arm, and holding a wicked looking metal spike in his other hand. A chimera lunged for him, and he reared, showing no hesitation as he smashed it with one front hoof, then stabbed down with the spike, sending it skittering back.Steve broke out of his trance and flung the shield. It smashed into the chimera, flattening it, and the centaur bolted for the safety of the barricades, his passengers clinging tightly.Another centaur. There was another centaur in New York. He'd thought he was the only one.





	Left of Centaur

**Author's Note:**

> So, you may be wondering why there's a second centaur fic from me written for littleblackfox's wonderful creations. Well, the explanation is that I wrote the first one and then kinda panicked, because _what if my artist didn't like it?_ and dealt with the panic by...writing her another fic. Yeah, I know, I know. ANYWAY. Littleblackfox and the CapRBB mods were kind enough to not laugh at me and to let me post both fics as part of the Bang, so here is the second one. Thanks so much to both littleblackfox (who also kindly betaed for me, despite being crazy-busy) and to the marvellous RBB mods.

"Remind me again why they always pull this crap in New York?" Steve asked, rearing to his full height, grey dapples flashing, blond tail waving like a banner, broad hooves reflecting the sun. He threw the shield in a perfect arc to knock a harpy out of the air, bounce her into the containment zone, and bring the shield straight back to his hands.

"It's the Big Apple, man, it's the place everyone wants to be." Sam swooped down low, scooped a squalling chupacabra up by the tail, and sent it after the harpy.

"But they know _we're_ here," Clint said. "It doesn’t make any sense."

"No one ever said they were smart," Natasha pointed out, claws digging into the asphalt as she raced forward to intercept a faun before it could reach the civilians still fleeing the scene. She didn't bother with a riddle, just pounced, tail lashing, and grinned to show long sharp teeth.

The faun fainted.

"Or brave," she added, sounding disappointed as she lobbed the faun through the air to join the harpy and the chupacabra.

The latest crop of bad guys—a mix of armed humans and naturally armed creatures—had come boiling up out of the ground in the middle of a crowded street-market, with no obvious goal beyond destruction and chaos. Broken stalls and shattered goods were strewn across the sidewalks and road and, as Steve watched, one of the bad guys, a human, put his foot in a puddle of home-made olive oil and went careening forward to slam into a brick wall.

Dazed, he couldn't do more than bat pitifully at Tony's gloves when Tony snagged him by the belt and dumped him with his compatriots in the containment zone.

The Avengers were focussed on taking down the bad guys, but more, they were looking for people still trapped in the middle of the chaos. Getting them to safety had to be the first priority.

The sound of hoofbeats pulled Steve's head around and he froze.

A chestnut centaur, tail so long it would have brushed the ground if it wasn't flagged in challenge, galloped through the fighting. He carried a human and a dryad on his back, was cradling a tiny sprite in one arm, and held a wicked looking metal spike in his other hand. A chimera lunged for him, and he reared, showing no hesitation as he smashed it with one front hoof, then stabbed down with the spike, sending it skittering back.

Steve broke out of his trance and flung the shield. It smashed into the chimera, flattening it, and the centaur bolted for the safety of the barricades, his passengers clinging tightly.

Another centaur. There was another centaur in New York. He'd thought he was the only one.

Steve shook it off. There were still bad guys to deal with.

It didn't take long to finish them off, get them all rounded up and shoved into the containment zone to be dealt with by law enforcement. Cleaning up the mess they'd made was going to be a bigger job, and Steve knew for a lot of their owners, these market stalls—or what was left of them—had been their main source of income.

Tony had his faceplate flipped up, surveying the damage with a calculating air, and Steve had a feeling anyone who didn't have insurance was going to find the damage mysteriously taken care of. Not that Tony would ever admit it.

With a moment to stop, to breathe, no one going to get hurt or killed because Steve took a moment for himself, he scanned the crowd at the barriers, searching for the other centaur.

There was no sign of him. His heart dipped under the weight of disappointment.

He trotted over to Sam, who was talking to some of the clean-up crew. When he was done, Steve asked, very casually, "Sam? Did you see that other centaur?"

He was guessing he'd failed at casual, because Sam gave him a wide grin. "I might have done. I might also have found out who he was. If you'd be interested in something like that."

Steve scraped the ground with a front hoof and scratched the back of his neck.

Sam laughed at him, but it was kind, affectionate. "Hey man, I get it. I may be human, and there's how many billion of us? But I get it. And hey, you're a centaur, he's a centaur. I'm sure he'd be happy to see you."

 

***

 

Captain America was never intended to be a centaur. Colonel Phillips had favoured a human named Gilmore Hodge.

Despite that, Steve hadn't been the only centaur picked for Project Rebirth. He _had_ been the smallest, sickliest, weediest centaur, but then he'd been the smallest, sickliest, weediest _anything_. The only reason he'd been chosen at all was because of Abraham Erskine.

Phillips' second favourite had been the other centaur, Homer Campbell, who apart from the obvious—they were both centaurs—had been nothing like Steve. Campbell had had more in common with Hodge. No matter how different they'd been, two centaurs in Project Rebirth had been surprising, because even back then centaurs had been rare.

Phillips had liked Campbell for a lot of the reasons he'd liked Hodge. His size, his aggressiveness, his fighting spirit, but Campbell brought something to the table Hodge never could: built in propaganda fodder. Campbell was a _centaur_ , and like all centaurs he carried the legend of Chiron in his veins. Chiron, chosen son of the god Apollo, teacher of history's greatest warriors—he was the father of centaurs and the centaurs were his legacy, brothers and sisters to his warrior students. Who better to be the first of the new generation of greatest warriors?

In the end, Erskine had carried the day and Phillips had chosen Steve. Steve with his skinny legs, his bad hooves, his bad lungs and sway back. Erskine had thought it was because Phillips had listened and believed when he'd talked about good hearts and good men (and Steve had known Abraham had meant well when he'd called Steve a good _man_ ). What _Steve_ thought was that, to the Army, he was expendable: no use as a fighting soldier, he was the ideal candidate to test the whole thing. If it worked, great, they got the first of their super soldiers; if not, nothing of value was lost.

He'd still done it. It had worked, but Erskine had died and even if Steve had avenged him, it'd done nothing to erase the hurt at losing the first person besides his Ma who'd ever seen _him_.

And then he'd woken in the future to discover centaurs were even rarer than they used to be.

 

***

 

Steve looked up at the run-down building. It was small, with barely enough room for the three shops it held—and he did wonder how much business a tobacconist did in this day and age, but he was sure the adult store did a roaring trade. The shop he was looking for was the one on the end, with the dusty window and the gold lettering that spelled out: _Barnes Book Restoration and Conservation_.

The doorway was barely wide enough for Steve, his sides scraping a little, but he was broad and heavy, and he was used to not quite fitting through places. A bell rang, announcing his presence, filling the shop with sound.

Inside, there was plenty of room to maneuver, the place obviously set up with a centaur in mind, and Steve instantly felt comfortable. No having to tuck his hindquarters in and clamp his tail down so he didn't knock things over, no feeling like a giant in a place where he really didn't fit. It was a good feeling.

There was a long counter bisecting the shop, glass cases filled with old books, shelves of equipment whose purpose was a mystery but he figured could possibly double as medieval torture gear, and the air was filled with the scent of paper and glue.

The chestnut centaur stepped out from the wall behind the counter, and Steve had to force himself not to stare. Not because he was another centaur when it had been so long since Steve had seen one, but because he was _gorgeous_. His hair was long, falling to his shoulders, and it was the same glossy chestnut as his coat. His bare arms, his lower chest, his legs were beautifully muscled. From what Steve could make out under his loose shirt his upper chest was the same, and he was watching Steve out of bright, grey-blue eyes.

The wariness in them brought Steve crashing back down to earth.

He cleared his throat. "Hi." _Brilliant, Steve._

"Hi."

"I'm Steve. Steve Rogers."

It got him an amused smile. "Yeah, I know."

"Oh. Yeah. Of course." He smiled sheepishly. "And you're Bucky, right? Bucky Barnes?"

The smiled faded. "Yes. Why?"

Steve was struck with the certainty that he'd better come up with a good answer. "I wanted to come and thank you for what you did the other day. Helping out. Getting those people to safety."

"Oh. Uh, well, it wasn't a problem? I was there and so were they and I'm faster than humans and dryads, and the sprite's wing got damaged…"

"Fighting chimeras is a little above and beyond, though."

Bucky shrugged. "I wasn't going to let it bite any of them."

Steve looked down at the counter. It was old, made of thick wood, stacked with piles of papers, folds of cloth, pieces of what looked like leather, a bottle of glue. It was interesting, intriguing. He looked back at Bucky and admitted the main truth. "I also wanted to come by because I didn't know there were any other centaurs in New York."

Centaurs generally avoided living in cities and New York was about the citiest city of them all, so it wasn't surprising Steve had been the only one for so long.  

Only now he wasn't.

Bucky tensed slightly. "I only moved back here recently."

"Well, I guess now there's two of us," Steve said with a smile.

"I guess so."

A slightly awkward silence descended, Bucky shifting from front hoof to front hoof. Steve swished his tail, casting about for something to break the awkwardness. "Do you want to go running with me some time?"

Bucky searched his face.

Steve had no idea what he was looking for, so he said, "It's been a long time since I had someone to run with who could keep up. People try, but no one can run like a centaur."

After a minute, Bucky smiled slightly. "Aren't you Captain America? Not sure I can keep up with that."

"I'll go easy on you."

A light sparked in Bucky's eyes, one Steve recognized; he'd seen it in the mirror. "Would you?" Bucky asked innocently. "That'd be awfully nice of you."

"No problem. I wouldn't want to scare you off."

"Mmmm." Bucky's tail flicked once, then lay perfectly, almost unnaturally, still, like he was keeping it under careful control. "When and where?"

They made plans, and Steve left, feeling lighter than he had in a long time.

 

***

 

"What the hell were you thinking?" Bucky muttered to himself after Steve was gone.

He started sorting through the day's parcels. At least for once everything the courier had brought was expected. He hated when people just sent him books with no warning and no explanation, and then he was trying to figure out what they wanted and sometimes who they were from. He had a phone number and a form on his website for a reason.

Bucky didn't know why he'd bothered asking, because he knew _exactly_ what he'd been thinking. "'I'll go easy on you'," he repeated and couldn't hold back a snort. One thing Bucky could do was _run._ Maybe he couldn't outrun Captain America, but he'd give it a damn good try.

As what he'd agreed to sunk in, he wished he'd resisted the challenge. He didn't want to go running with Captain America. He didn't want to do anything with Captain America. Sorry, with _Steve Rogers_ , since that was how he'd introduced himself.

He'd known Steve was the only other centaur in New York. It was one of the reasons he'd moved back here. Not the only reason, maybe not even the main reason, but it had definitely been a deciding factor. He'd figured there was no chance he was going to run into Captain America, no chance he'd have to worry about him, so it'd be pretty much the same as moving somewhere there were _no_ centaurs.

_That worked out real well, didn't it?_

He didn't want to do this again. He didn't want to go through this again. He shouldn't have agreed to go running.

With a stamp of his hooves and a lash of his tail, he caught himself before he could trot too far down that path. _You're being ridiculous. He's Captain America. Only other centaur in New York or not, I'm damn sure he has other people to be interested in._

Because it wasn't like centaurs could only date centaurs. Sometimes you didn't even need two centaurs to get another centaur, although that was both rare and fraught. Bucky's dad was a satyr and his mom was a shifter—a Highland cow, which was the only reason she'd been able to carry him to term. Mythobiology was weird, but both his parents had obviously had centaur genes and here Bucky was.

Suddenly, Bucky laughed at himself. "Okay, Bucky. Getting ahead of yourself, here. He asked you to go running, he didn't ask you to marry him. Calm down."

It was excellent advice.

He grabbed his notebook and his camera and carefully started opening the parcels, unwinding the miles of protective material, taking photos to record the condition of each book, making notes of the work he'd need to do as he went.

 

***

 

Steve was leaning against a tree in Central Park, gently swishing his tail, waiting for Bucky. The sun was barely up and there weren't many people around—a few were walking dogs or cats or flying their mini-wyverns, but they politely ignored him. He appreciated it. It wasn't like he could go incognito, so he relied on the courtesy of others. Most of the time he got it.

A few minutes later, Bucky trotted up. Steve tried not to watch him, but he was so graceful he practically floated over the ground. His build was completely different from Steve's: smooth, sleek chestnut to Steve's solid, massive dapple-grey bulk.

"Morning," Bucky called.

"Morning, Bucky. Ready to run?"

"If you are." Bucky stopped a little in front of him. "Remember, you said you'd go easy on me." His expression was sober, his tone serious, but his eyes were glinting.

"I remember," Steve said. "I usually run on the bridle path. It's made for hooves, so I don't rip up the grass."

"Sounds good." Bucky gestured at him to lead the way and Steve trotted off, Bucky falling in easily by his side.

"I'm mostly the only one using it at this time of day. Humans don't usually ride 'til later, and the minotaurs and satyrs normally run in the evening."

"Good."

Steve quirked an eyebrow at him in question.

"We don't have to worry about running anyone over."

"There is that." They reached the bridle path. "Do you want a head start?"

Bucky grinned at him, said, "Sure," dug his hooves in, and _bolted_ , kicking up a spray of dirt.

Steve stood gaping for long seconds, then half-reared and galloped after him.

Bucky was leaning forward, torso low, legs almost a blur, and Steve had to dig deep to catch him, his heavy hooves thumping into the ground. As he drew even with Bucky's shoulder, Bucky put on a burst of speed, pulling ahead. Steve kept speeding up and passed him, but it wasn't easy. Bucky was _fast_.

Steve looked over his shoulder, because he wanted to watch Bucky run, and it was _gorgeous_ , every movement balanced, legs in smooth, perfect motion, and he was laughing. Suddenly his eyes went wide. "Steve! Look out!"

Steve whipped around to face front and dug in with his front hooves, reared, and pivoted sharply on his hind legs, turning a full ninety degrees and leaping to the other side of the path to avoid hitting the tree that had suddenly loomed up in front of him.

Bucky slid to a halt next to him. "Maybe face forward if you're running that fast?" he suggested dryly, but he was looking Steve over. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Embarrassed as all hell, but fine. "Good idea."

"Uh huh. I'm full of them." He trotted in place, obviously still eager to run. "Keep going? With an eyes front rule this time?"

Steve groaned and hung his head and Bucky laughed, full throated, and it rang like bells, resonating deep inside Steve. He glanced up and Bucky was smiling, wide and bright, his hair a tangled mess framing his face, his tail flagged high. Steve felt his heart give a little lurch. "Let's run."

They took off together this time, galloping at a slower pace, Bucky moving easily by his side. Gradually they slowed to a canter, matching each other stride for stride. After a minute, Bucky shortened his stride, turning his canter into more of a bounce. With a chuckle, Steve matched him. It turned into an impromptu contest as they cooled down, one trying something, long stride, short stride, changing leads, the other matching it pace for pace.

They finally slowed to a halt, both breathing hard, and Steve felt peaceful in a way he couldn’t ever remember.

"Good run," Steve said, stretching into a long walk. " _Great_ run."

"Yeah, not bad," Bucky agreed, then added, a touch dryly, "Thanks for going easy on me."

Steve laughed. "If I wasn't Captain America you would have kicked my ass. You're damn fast."

Bucky gave a modest little headshake. "I just about kicked your ass with you being Captain America."

Steve laughed again. "And for that, you get rewarded with coffee. My treat."

"Sure."

They made their way to a coffee cart near the bank of the lake. Jacey, a gnome who'd been operating it as long as Steve could remember, was already making Steve's when they got there, and she quickly made Bucky's, saying to Steve, "I'll add it to your tab."

At Bucky's questioning look, Steve said, "It's easier to run a tab then try and bring a wallet. That's the one advantage two legs have over four: pants have pockets."

"You could get one of those waist pouches like human tourists wear."

Steve gave him a deeply unimpressed look over the top of his coffee.

"No?"

"No."

"Saddlebags?"

"Bucky," Steve said, pained.

"Okay, okay," Bucky said with a laugh. "Just kidding. And I guess she'd trust Captain America to pay his tab."

"It's not like I'd be hard to track down even if I didn't."

"True."

They drank their coffee in silence as they walked beside the lake, waving back at the young naiads that popped out of the water to wave at them.

"Do you want to do this again?" Steve asked.

Bucky didn't answer right away. He fiddled with his coffee, tail flicking back and forth as he gave it some thought. Finally, he gave Steve a slightly sardonic look. "Okay. I mean, someone has to keep you from running into a tree."

Steve didn't even care. He just beamed at Bucky, whose steps faltered briefly, then he answered with a tentative smile of his own. 

 

 

***

 

Running had always been part of Steve's life. It had to be. He _needed_ to run. If he didn't, it itched under his skin until he felt like his bones were going to leap right out of him and bolt off on their own. It part of being a centaur. It'd been the same when he'd been young and sickly and spavined and running had hurt like hell; his body had still wanted, _demanded_ , to run. Sometimes he'd given in and spent days—weeks—paying the price.

The serum had only made it worse. Other exercise could dull the urge, but it couldn't banish it.

He _needed_ to run. Running was part of him, part of who he was.

Only now he wasn't doing it alone, and that felt like part of him, too. Like he'd discovered some fundamental piece of himself he hadn't known was missing.

Sometimes he still ran alone. Some days, Bucky didn't meet him—and he knew it was unreasonable to expect Bucky to always be there, no matter how much he might want him to be. Some days, when they were on a mission that kept them away for days at a time, the others would run with him. But even Natasha, quick as she was, couldn't keep up, because a sphinx was never going to be as fast as a centaur in a flat out run. Sometimes Sam would suit up and fly beside him, and Steve loved him for it, but it wasn't the same.

It wasn't the same as Bucky matching him stride for stride, the sound of their paired hoofbeats thundering through the park. It wasn't the same as glancing over and seeing him, long lean muscles and long lean legs and his tail flagged high and that glorious smile.

That _smile_.

Steve had a suspicion it wasn't just having _someone_ to run with that had turned running with Bucky into such an enjoyable part of his life.

 

***

 

Bucky was getting used to running with Steve.

Sort of.

Bucky ran every day, rain or shine or snow—not that it was going to snow in the middle of a New York spring—but he didn't always run with Steve. He had to keep some distance between them. He told himself he was just being sensible, that it would be ridiculous to run together all the time, but deep in the depths of his heart, where the light of the sun never touched, he knew he _needed_ that distance.

Steve was charming and funny and too attractive to be allowed out in public, but Bucky wouldn't let himself get close. Not with another centaur. Not again.

Time passed, spring turning into summer, he spent less and less time running alone and more and more time running with Steve, and the careful distance he was keeping…shrunk.

After most of their runs, the sun warm overhead, neither of them in any hurry to be anywhere else, they'd stretch out on the grass and drink their coffee, maybe eat a muffin or two or five (centaurs had big appetites) from Jacey's coffee cart. She baked them herself and she was one talented gnome.

This was one of those days, and it had been a week since he'd seen Steve. The Avengers had been on some kind of good-will tour in Europe, and Bucky was guessing Steve was still jetlagged, because they were sitting under what Bucky was careful not to think of as their tree, drinking coffee and eating muffins, and Steve's eyelids were starting to droop.

Curious, Bucky watched him, wondering if he'd actually fall asleep.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, Bucky had to pluck the coffee out of Steve's hands before he stained his lovely pale dapples brown. Slowly, Steve toppled backwards until he was stretched out flat on the grass, legs splayed in front of him, head pillowed on his arm, fast asleep.

It was weirdly cute. The tree above them was casting shadows over his dapples, his blond tail, the same sunshine colour as his hair, was draped over his hind legs like a completely inadequate blanket, and his front hooves were almost—but not quite—touching Bucky's folded front legs.

Bucky set Steve's coffee down in the grass and contemplated the possibilities.

He could wake him up, but he didn't want to. He couldn’t imagine how tired Steve must be to fall asleep like this.

He obviously wasn't going to leave him here. That would be about the shittiest thing in the world to do to someone, but especially to someone who was…a friend? He shied away from having to think about what they were. Whatever it was, Bucky wouldn't leave him here alone and asleep.

Bucky studied the incredibly fluffy hooves in front of him.

And smiled.

Setting down his coffee, he cracked his knuckles and gently brushed his fingers over the hair that grew out of Steve's pasterns.

Steve didn't react.

Satisfied, he ran his fingers through it, splitting it into chunks, and started braiding. Tiny, individual braids, beginning at the top where the hair started and working his way down. Steve never stirred.

When he was done with the first hoof, he shifted it slightly, so he could reach the other one, and started braiding. He was half way done when Steve snorted, jerking upright, pulling his hoof away from Bucky's hands.

"What?" Steve said, looking dazed, blinking in confusion. 

"You fell asleep."

"I fell asleep?" Steve scrubbed his hands over his face. "I don't fall asleep."

"Ever? Is that a Captain America thing?"

"What?" Steve stared at him. "No. I don't fall asleep around people I don't—" He cut himself off, suddenly alert, like he'd just been gifted with unexpected epiphany. "Uh, never mind."

Now Bucky was curious, was going to ask, but Steve was staring at his feet.

"Why?" Steve asked, clearly bemused, shaking one hoof to make the braids wriggle.

Bucky shrugged. "Had to do something while you were asleep, and I wasn't going to leave you here."

"You could have woken me up."

"Nah. You needed the rest." Steve's eyes went soft and Bucky looked away, picked up his coffee and fiddled with it. "Besides, doing that," he pointed at the numerous little braids decorating Steve's legs, "was more fun."

"I'm glad I could entertain you."

Bucky grinned at him. "Me too."

 

***

 

"I like Bucky."

Sam opened his eyes and stared up at Steve.

"I'm happy for you but could you maybe loom a little less?"

Sam was lying on Steve's gigantic backless couch, relaxing while Steve made dinner, or at least he had been before Steve had— _yes, okay, he was probably right_ —loomed over top of him. Steve backed up, tail swishing.

"Thanks. I think you forget how damn big you are sometimes. Think you're still that tiny little pony from the olden days." Sam grinned at him and swung his legs around to sit up. "Also, what part of 'I like Bucky' was supposed to be a surprise?"

"What do you mean?"

"You go running with him every morning—"

"Not every morning."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Almost every morning, then. You get this moony look in your eyes when you talk about him. And I don't know if you've noticed, but your tail has a mind of its own. And it does that thing where it arches up in the air whenever you think you're going to see him. Kind of a dead giveaway."

"Oh."

"Oh," Sam repeated, not unkindly. "Is there a reason you're telling me?"

"I'm just happy about it."

At that, Sam smiled warmly. "Nice. You going to tell Bucky?"

Steve pawed the carpet. "Maybe."

"Problem?"

"Not sure he feels the same way."

Sam was nodding in understanding as he said, "I get it. You want to be sure before you put yourself out there. But if you don't put yourself out there, you might never find out."

"Maybe. I don't want to," Steve paused, trying to find the words, "spook him."

"You've got to do what feels right. Trust your instincts."

"Sam, my instincts told me to crash a plane into the Arctic. Are we sure I should be listening to them?"

"Well, don't use those ones. New rule. No crashing anything into anything else. "

Steve laughed. "Come on, help me with dinner."

"I give you romantic advice _and_ I have to help you with dinner?" Sam grumbled, hauling himself off the couch. "Nice way to treat a guest."

 

***

 

Bucky had locked the door to the shop and turned the sign to _Closed_ , which was why it sent a shiver of irritation all the way down the length of spine to his tail when he heard the knocking.

He decided to ignore it.

His tail lashed when it came again. The lights were on, because he was working, he would be for several hours, maybe most of the night, but the shop was _closed_. There was a _sign_ ; even an idiot should be able to figure it out.

Another knock, this one softer, and Bucky swore under his breath and stamped one rear hoof, hard. But it was followed by a voice saying, "Bucky?" and he knew that voice.

He hadn't seen the owner for almost two weeks, but he knew the voice.

Most of his irritation vanished, and he quickly trotted out the front to see Steve leaning on the front door, one hand raised to shade his eyes as he peered through the glass. The rest went up in smoke as he got closer, because Steve looked terrible. Bucky quickly unlocked the front door. "Get in here, will you?"

Steve obeyed, his broad sides scraping against the door frame, and Bucky couldn't help wincing; the doorway just wasn't wide enough for Steve's bulk. He was obviously exhausted, his whole body drooping, his tail hanging listlessly, even the hair on his legs looked lifeless, there were bruises on his face, and Bucky was sure he was limping.

"Are you okay?" It was such a dumb question, but he didn't know what else to ask. _What are you doing here?_ would have been a good choice, maybe, but he was afraid it would sound like an accusation and right now, that'd be like kicking a puppy.  

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Bucky gave him his most unimpressed look.

"What?"

"No, you're not. You look like crap. What's wrong with you?"

Steve ran his fingers through his hair, making it fall over his forehead. Bucky was struck with the unexpected urge to brush it back. "Bad mission," he said after a long pause.

"Okay," Bucky said quietly, the word half a question.

"I." Steve hung his head and laughed—at himself, Bucky thought. "Sorry, it's stupid. I just wanted to make sure you were safe."

Somewhere in the deep dark part of his heart light flared into life and something bloomed, a seed unfurling, sending tendrils of warmth rushing through his veins.

"You had a bad mission and you wanted to make sure I was safe," he repeated.

"Yeah, I told you it was stupid. I shouldn't have bugged you. Sorry, Buck." Steve shook his head, started to turn, but Bucky caught his arm with gentle fingers and Steve's skin was warm under his touch

"No. Steve. It's fine. It's okay. You had a bad mission. I don't know what that's like and, honestly, I'm _glad_ I don't know, but if that's what you needed, I'm happy you did it. I'm fine." He let go of Steve's arm and held his arms out. "Completely fine, see?"

"Yeah." Steve eyes were running over him. "Yeah, I see."

"You, on the other hand, don't look so great." Steve huffed a weary laugh. "I'm going to be here for three, four hours at least. I've got a comfy couch. You can settle in, relax, I can even rustle you up a cup of tea if you want."

Steve was searching his face. "You sure that's okay?"

He was very sure he didn't want Steve to leave, but all he said was, "I wouldn't have offered if it wasn't."

"Then I'd like that. I'd like it a lot."

"That's settled then."

Bucky got Steve set up on the long, low, flat couch he kept for the times he worked so late he couldn’t be bothered to go home, tossing a blanket over him on his way to the tiny kitchen to get him a cup of tea. He opted for herbal, figuring Steve didn't need any caffeine, and when he handed it to him, Steve wrapped his long fingers around the mug and breathed in the steam.

Bucky tried not to notice how natural he looked there, legs tucked up underneath him, fuzzy hooves just poking out from under the blanket, and went back to the book he'd been working on when Steve had knocked. 

"If I ask what you're doing, will it bother you?" Steve asked.

"Not at all. I could do this in my sleep. I'm rebinding a diary from the seventeen hundreds. The people who own it bought it at an auction, they think it's the key to an ancient family fortune, but I have my doubts."

"How come?"

"A lot of things feel off about it, but, hey, that's not my problem. My problem's rebinding it so it won't fall apart under hard use." Steve made an interested noise. "It's got a cloth binding, so I pulled the old cloth off, cleaned it, redyed it, starched it, and I'll use that to rebind it, to keep it as close to the original as possible. I also have to repair and restitch the spine, reinsert some of the pages."

"Sounds like a lot of work."

"Not really, not compared to some. This is nothing." He couldn't keep the pleasure out his voice, couldn’t help the pride. "I've brought books back from nothing but a handful of pieces. I've brought them back from insect infestations. I've brought them back from being soaked in floods."

Steve's voice was warm when he said, "You love it, huh?"

"I do." He ran his fingers lightly over the book in front of him. "It's taking old things and making them matter again, breathing new life into them, keeping them going. And I'm _good_ at it," he added fiercely, maybe a little too fiercely, maybe edging towards the defensive.

"I'm sure you are." Steve's voice was soothing. "I never doubted it."

"Sorry." He turned towards Steve, who was watching him curiously.

"No, it's fine. I'm kinda wondering if there's a story there, though."

Bucky leaned his hip against the worktable, one rear hoof cocked, and tapped his front hoof against the floor. Thinking. "There is," he said finally. "And part of it's your fault."

Steve's eyes went wide with shock.

"No, not your fault," Bucky said, wincing. "That's wrong, I said that wrong. But it's partly because of you."

"Tell me?" It was soft, nothing even close to a demand. It was an _invitation_ , Bucky decided, one he was willing to answer.

"My parents weren't centaurs, but it didn't matter, because even with how few of us there are, maybe _because_ of how few of us there are, there's certain expectations. Because of Apollo, because of Chiron, because of Captain America."

Bucky paused and glanced at Steve, who nodded.  

"And, you know, only the diehard mythologists believe the stuff about Apollo being Chiron's adopted father, and only about half the people believe the stuff about Chiron training Achilles and Hercules and Perseus and the rest, but there's you. There's Captain America. You're that legacy, all wrapped up in one neat, definitely-existed package."

Steve closed his eyes. "I think I know where you're going with this."

"Yeah. They expect centaurs to be Chiron's sons and daughters, to be like his students: to be warriors, to be athletes, to _only_ excel at things that are physical. We're welcome in the military but not the library, because everyone conveniently forgets Chiron was a _scholar_."

"It was the same back in my day. I remember what it was like growing up with that."

"Yeah, I read about what you were like before the army got their hands on you. But back then," Bucky said it quietly, apologetically, because he _had_ read the history of Captain America, the whole history, and he knew Steve's life hadn't been easy, "you didn't have to live with the legacy they turned you into."

"No. No, I didn't." Steve turned the mug in his hands, eyes dropping to stare into the tea. "Not back then, anyway," he added wryly.

Bucky studied Steve, then took an involuntary step closer, understanding tugging at his heart. "Not until you woke up here."

"Yeah." Steve looked up at him. "Some people were a little disappointed I wasn't the guy from the propaganda films, so I understand about being stuck with that legacy." He shook his head, offered Bucky a smile. "But this isn't about me. I want to know about you."

After long moments, Steve's soft gaze holding his, he continued. "That legacy, it made it worse. So when I loved books, when I knew I wanted books to be my life, when I tried to go for an internship in the rare books department at the local museum, they didn't want me. They didn't want a _centaur_ , because centaurs are brash and aggressive and _physical_. The last thing you'd want in a museum."

"I'm sorry, Bucky."

"No, it's not your fault. I'm sorry I said it was, because it's really not. You're as stuck with it as the rest of us. And my mom didn't let them get away with it. She was a shifter, a Highland cow, not someone you mess with, and she took them on. I got my internship, I never looked back, and here I am today." He smiled, wide and bright, and gestured around the shop. "Making old things new again."

Steve's eyes were deep and intent and he was watching Bucky like he couldn't look away, head tilted, mug resting on his foreleg. "Bucky?"

"Yeah, Steve?"

"Can I make you dinner tomorrow night?"

Bucky pressed his hand flat on the book he'd been working on, took a deep breath, and said, "Yeah, Steve. I'd like that."

 

***

 

The house was spotless, because Steve had cleaned it to within an inch of its life.

He'd done the shopping and he had everything ready to go for dinner. He had a bunch of different movies picked out, because he wasn't sure what Bucky would like. He wasn't sure Bucky would want to watch a movie after dinner, but if he did, Steve was ready.

When the knock came on the door, he almost tripped over his own hooves rushing to open it. Bucky was standing on the doorstep, holding a bottle of wine.

"I brought you this." He thrust it at Steve. Steve took it and then gestured Bucky in.

"Thanks. It looks good." Steve had no idea if it looked good, but Bucky could have brought a bottle of swamp water and Steve would have said it looked good. "I'll put it in the kitchen."

He walked into the kitchen and set it on the counter, turning to return to the living room, only to find Bucky right behind him, so close they were practically touching. Steve drew in a sharp breath.

"Sorry." Bucky skittered back a step, but Steve reached out to catch his hand. Bucky went still, staring down at their hands. Steve was getting ready to let go, wondering if he'd gotten everything wrong, if he'd read everything wrong, when Bucky slipped his fingers through Steve's. When he looked up, he was smiling, warm and welcoming.  

Steve stepped into him, lifting Bucky's hand to press a kiss to his knuckles and watched Bucky's eyelids flutter. Bucky shifted, front leg brushing Steve's, and pressed his palm against Steve's chest, fingers spread wide. Steve stroked his fingers through Bucky's hair, and it was as soft as he'd thought it would be.

"Bucky." He nuzzled Bucky's cheek, brushed his nose against Bucky's, and pressed a gentle kiss against his mouth. "I can't believe I found you." Bucky leaned into him, eyes closed, and they exchanged gentle kisses. "The only other centaur in New York."

Bucky stilled.

Steve lifted his head, looking down at him with concern, but Bucky was backing away, pulling his hand free, shaking his head. He clenched his hands together and his tail was clamped down tight. "I can't." It was so soft, Steve had to strain to hear it. "I can't do this again."

"Bucky?" Steve said his name gently, as gently as he knew how, because there was pain in Bucky's eyes and Steve didn't know why. He didn't know how to fix it.

"No." He half reared, front hooves leaving the ground, then got himself under control. His expression smoothed over. "I'm sorry. I need to go. I need to leave."

"Okay. It's okay, Bucky. If that's what you need to do."

Bucky nodded, nodded again, and whirled, hurrying out the door. Steve watched him, heart aching to follow, knowing he had to let him go.

 

***

 

Bucky ran away from Steve in every sense, Steve's words chasing him as he galloped down the sidewalk. _The only other centaur in New York._ He knew people were staring, but he didn't care. He just wanted to get home. He needed to get home.

He should have known, he should have _known._ Steve had said it flat out, the first time they'd met: he'd come looking for Bucky was because Bucky was another centaur.

It was Jacinta all over again.

At least he'd caught it before he'd tumbled head over hooves into love. He'd started to slide, but he hadn't fallen all the way.

He put on a burst of speed, crashed across the road against the lights, dodging around the traffic and ignoring the blare of horns. Above him, feral mini-wyverns circled and dived, worse than crows when their curiosity was caught, but he ignored them, too. Finally, he made it home, got inside, and slammed the door.

Then he just stood in the middle of the living room, sides heaving, panting, exhausted, head hanging low. He could still feel Steve's mouth on his, still feel his touch. It had felt so real. It had felt so good. But: _the only other centaur in New York._ He shuddered and went to throw himself in the shower.

With the hot water pouring over his body, washing the caked sweat from his coat, he forced himself to calm down. Took deep breath after deep breath and tried to find something like rational thought.

Jacinta had lied, endlessly, until the day he'd accidentally overheard her talking to her friends and confronted her. _I don't love you, Bucky_ , she'd admitted, like it didn't matter. _You're just the only other centaur around_.

Steve had said, twice now, that Bucky was the only other centaur in New York. Bucky's heart clenched at the thought, but he forced himself to _think_. Steve wasn't stupid. Steve was one of the smartest people Bucky had ever met. Only a stupid person would show their hand if that was the only reason they were interested. Only a stupid person, or someone who thought Bucky was stupid, but Bucky knew what that felt like—he'd seen it enough at the museum—and that wasn't Steve.

And Steve, exhausted and hurting, had come to find Bucky after a mission because he'd needed to make sure Bucky was safe. Steve was good and kind and he filled Bucky's heart with light. No matter what Steve had said, no matter how much it'd hurt, no matter how close those words were to the words that had ripped his life apart last time, maybe something else was going on.

He didn't want to hope. It was too close, too raw, and he _didn't_ want to hope, but he wasn't sure how to stop.

 

***

 

Steve hadn't slept well last night, not after scaring Bucky away. He'd texted him, just once, just to say he was here if Bucky needed anything. He hadn't expected a response and he hadn't gotten one.

Running this morning was about as appealing as rolling in bees, but his body still demanded it, so he let his body carry his mind out to Central Park.

Where he found Bucky waiting.

Bucky was nervous, Steve could see it in his stance, in the shuffle of his feet, in the swish of his tail, but he was obviously waiting for Steve.

Steve swallowed hard and sent silent prayers up to every deity who might be listening that he didn't screw this up.

"Bucky." Steve approached slowly, not wanting to scare him off.

"Hi," Bucky said, looking uncertain.

"Hi," Steve replied, smiling softly.

Bucky chewed his bottom lip. "When you first came and found me, you said it was because you didn't know there was another centaur in New York. Now there's two of us, you said."

"Yeah, Buck."

"And last night, you said you couldn’t believe you found the only other centaur in New York."

"I did."

"Is that why you kissed me?"

Steve stared at him. Bucky stared back, but there was something fragile in his eyes, and Steve gentled his voice.

"No, Bucky, it wasn't." He came closer and held out his hand. After a second, Bucky took it and held on tight. "I kissed you because I like you. I kissed you because I wanted to kiss you, because I was sure you wanted to kiss me. I've been wanting to do it for a while now."

Bucky searched his face. "Because I've been down that road before. I can't, I can't do it again. Especially not with you."

Steve's heart stood up and sang, because that had to mean Bucky felt something for him, but the pain in Bucky's voice made him want to kick something to death. "That's what you meant when you said you couldn’t do this again."

"Yeah. It's why I came to New York. I grew up here. My family moved when I was a kid, and I've lived so many different places since then, but when I needed to get as far away as I could from…everything that happened, I thought: why not come back? It was a good place for business, and it was somewhere I knew I wasn't going to run into any other centaurs."

Steve looked down at himself, then back up at Bucky with a quirked eyebrow.

"You didn't count. You were _Captain America_. I wasn't going to run into you."

"Sorry?" Steve offered.

Bucky shook his head.

"Tell me what happened? If you want. You don't have to."

"There's not much to tell. I was in love. She wasn't but she said she was, she pretended she was. She just wanted another centaur. It didn't have to be me, it could have been anyone," he laughed bitterly, "except there wasn't another one. There was just me. I found out, I got my heart broken. The end." Bucky's tone was level, matter of fact, but Steve could see the hurt in his eyes.

"Buck, come here." He gently tugged him forward into a hug and Bucky rested his forehead on Steve's shoulder when Steve folded his arms around him. "I'm sorry."

"Me too."

He ran his fingers through Bucky's hair, pushing it back, marveling again at how soft it was. "Bucky, I'd like you if you were a, a sprite. Okay, it'd present some logistical difficulties," Bucky's soft laugh sent warmth cantering down his spine, "but we'd work them out. But you're not a sprite, you're you. You're Bucky. You happen to be a gorgeous, beautiful centaur, but it's the _you_ I'm interested in."

"It's really not because I'm the only other centaur around?"

"It's really not." Steve pressed a gentle kiss against Bucky's temple and felt him give the tiniest sigh, felt Bucky's whole body relax into him. "Look at it this way. Are you only interested in me because I'm Captain America?"

"No, I don't care about that."

"Exactly." Steve pressed closer, hooking one front hoof around Bucky's leg. "It's just you, just Bucky. That's what I care about."

He felt Bucky smile against his neck.

"And I love your smile."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, Buck." He leaned back and ran his hand up Bucky's neck to cradle his jaw. "Gonna kiss you now, okay?"

Bucky didn't answer in words. He tilted his head up to press his mouth to Steve's, kissing him lightly, arms sliding up Steve's side to rest his hands on his chest as he crowded closer. It was picking up where they'd left off last night—gentle kisses, discovering each other, only this time Steve knew how much Bucky was trusting him, how much Bucky was giving him, and he wound his arms around Bucky and held him tight as their kisses grew deeper, more intent.

They finally broke apart, Steve very conscious they were in public, very conscious of where Bucky's hands had migrated under his shirt, pressed against the skin of his back.

Bucky dropped his forehead back onto Steve's shoulder, turned his head to kiss Steve's neck, contentedly said, "That's a yes to the kissing, in case you were wondering," and Steve laughed and pulled Bucky closer, burying his face in Bucky's hair.

 


End file.
